


Ding, Dong--

by Crowgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘No fucking mistakes here.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ding, Dong--

Dean’s digging before he can even hear again. He doesn’t know where his gun has gone; the EMP detector’s crushed flat somewhere; his duffel might be in the next county for all he knows and he really doesn’t give a shit. All he can see is the best part of the house -- bricks, boards, nails, glass -- crashing down on top of Castiel.

‘---Dean!’ 

Sam’s voice comes faintly through the ringing in his ears and Dean doesn’t bother to stop what he’s doing, dragging broken, nail-studded boards out of the heap of wreckage and throwing them as far away as he can get them. 

‘Dean, what--’ A hand grabs at his shoulder and he smacks it without looking. 

There’s a tumbled mess of bricks and metal in front of him; maybe the remains of a chimney? He hadn’t gotten into this room yet. Why the fuck hadn’t they looked for blueprints or something? Then he’d _know_ what the hell he’s dealing with!

He grabs a sturdy-looking board and starts trying to sweep the bricks out of the way. They scatter and thud to the ground, several landing on his boots. He kicks them away.

There’s a depression under them that slopes away, getting deeper and leading into the rest of the pile of wreckage -- maybe Cas dropped through the floor? Fuck, if he’s under _all_ of this-- He had no goddamn _idea_ what the cellar of this place looked like -- it could go on for _miles_ for all he knows--

 _‘Dean!’_ Sam yanks him around and Dean nearly decks him. ‘What the hell--’

‘It fucking _fell--’_

‘Yeah, I _know--’_

‘--on Cas, y’idiot! Let me _go!’_ He pulls his arms free and spins back, kicking bricks out of his way, scraping his arm painfully along a sharp bit of metal. 

‘He’ll be okay--’ Sam’s beside him, pulling wreckage out of the way almost as fast as he is. ‘Dean, he’s got--’

Dean doesn’t bother to answer. The depression under the pile of bricks seems to lead to a trench in the earth and he’d swear he can see pale cloth under a scattered pile of boards and linoleum about a foot in front of him. 

It’s the slowest foot of ground he’s ever covered in his life.

There is cloth. And a hand. And a shirt cuff. 

Dean can hear Sam grunt beside him and the last twisted chunk of wood is dragged out of the way. 

The hand isn’t moving. 

‘I’ll -- I’ll get the car -- there’s got to be a hospital-- where’s my goddamned phone--’ Sam’s voice fades away. 

Dean drops on his knees, fumbling for Castiel’s wrist. Either his hands are too unsteady or there’s no fucking pulse there-- No, that can’t be it. That _won’t_ be it -- Dean won’t _let_ that be it.

The trenchcoat is ripped and dust-stained and Dean shoves it out of the way, pressing the heel of his hand over Castiel’s ribs, breastbone, collarbone. _Come on, come on, come on, don’t fucking do this -- don’t you fucking dare--_

He notices dimly that his own hands are bloodstained, dirty, and shaking, but he shelves all of that, flattening his hand in front of Castiel’s mouth and nose, desperate to feel movement: air, _any_ air. 

_Screw it._ He’s never really had to try this before but how hard can it be, right? Looks easy in the movies. 

Castiel’s mouth tastes of dust and blood and his lips are gritty and torn and Dean can’t feel him breathing. ‘Jesus fuck don’t do this to me--’ He drags in a deep breath, tries to remember what he’s seen in countless TV shows--

Castiel coughs, drags in a deep breath, coughs again. He makes a choking, half-strangled sound and Dean grabs at his shoulders, pulling him roughly up to sitting and not realising until too late that might make things worse and then trying to make it better by making himself a support for Cas to lean against and--

‘Dean. I am fine.’ 

Had he said all of that out loud?

Castiel coughs again, clears his throat, and spits, then twists around to look at Dean. Under the dust and dirt, he looks a little puzzled -- as if Dean has once again done something inexplicable. 

‘Uh -- the hospital’s five miles away--’ Sam sounds unusually tentative and Dean looks back up at him, his heart finally settling down out of a painfully hard hammering to a more normal rhythm. Sam’s looking at him like Dean just grew a second head, his cell phone in one hand. ‘--the car’s right over--’

‘I do not need a hospital.’ Castiel shakes his head, runs a hand slowly over his head and loose splinters of wood shower over his shoulders.

‘Fuck that -- a _house_ fell on you. You’re damned well going to a hospital.’ Dean kneels back on his heels, feeling returning to the rest of his body now the steady beat of panic in his head is fading. 

Castiel shrugs -- or moves as if he would shrug and winces instead. He tilts his head, makes the same motion again, then nods slightly. ‘I will be fine.’

‘Cas--’

‘You could just get Dean to kiss you again.’

Dean whips around and glares at Sam who’s grinning at him, tucking his cellphone away in an inside pocket. He shrugs: ‘Hey, that’s what it looked like to me.’

‘Fucking CPR, Sam!’

Sam shrugs again. ‘I could see Cas moving and you went back for seconds, so--’

‘It was a mistake,’ Castiel says evenly, pushing himself to his knees, then to his feet without reference to Dean.

‘A -- a mistake?’ Dean scrambles up and flinches as he tries to put weight on his right leg. His knee is complaining and, looking down, there’s a long, bloodstained tear in his jeans and he really doesn’t want to reach down and find out what’s happening there.

‘Thank you for trying, Dean, but I did not need your help.’

Dean throws his hands in the air, starting to limp back out of the wreckage towards the car. ‘Well, _fine._ Next time a fucking _house_ falls on you, I’ll just leave you to it!’

‘I am an angel--’

‘--of the Lord. I _know._ Jesus.’ Dean spins back, ignoring the steady throb in his right knee, and waves a hand at the devastation surrounding them. ‘Excuse me for thinking that your superpowers might not save you from the goddamned _house that fell on you!’_

Sam claps him on the shoulder, stepping past him towards the car. ‘Hey, just ‘cause you made a mistake, man--’

‘Mistake?’ Dean tries to take a steady step and his knee nearly gives under him. He clutches at a jutting board to steady himself and gets a nail scraping along his thumb for his trouble. ‘Glinda here’s the one who made the fucking mistake--’

‘Glinda?’ Castiel queries and Dean can see the headtilt without even looking back.

‘It wasn’t Glinda, it was the Wicked Witch of the East,’ Sam says and grins at him and Dean bites his teeth together, strangling an urge to whack his brother upside the head. ‘Hey, look, I won’t tell anyone you kissed Cas by mistake--’

Dean glowers at his brother then takes a long step back towards Castiel, his knee aching in protest, and grabs him by the shoulder. ‘I don’t fuckin’ kiss anyone by mistake!’ 

Castiel’s mouth still feels gritty but this time there’s breath moving against Dean’s lips and for a minute -- for a minute --

When he steps back, his hands are on the back of Castiel’s neck, fingers trailing up into the dark, dirt-coated hair and Castiel looks more than a little dazed, the tip of his tongue slipping out to touch his lips as though he’s not entirely sure what’s happening.

Dean mimics the gesture without thinking and feels himself lean forward-- then yanks himself back, turning and starting to limp back towards the car.

Sam is staring at the two of them, completely silent.

‘See?’ Dean gives him a sharp nudge as he limps past. ‘No fucking mistakes here.’

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel outtake to [The Finest of Clothing is Skin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/791138), specifically this bit: "They kiss -- sometimes. Not often, not as often as he’d like; Dean wonders if this was because the first time was kind of half a mistake and half out of shock."


End file.
